


Interview with a Hitman

by cthulhu_has_chaotic_stories (cthulhu_is_chaotic_good)



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz, Alex Rider - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Gen, High School Projects, Humor taken slightly seriously, Interviews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29823333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good/pseuds/cthulhu_has_chaotic_stories
Summary: Alex Rider's project for his journalism class was a simple one: interview someone with an unusual job.Alex knew just the man to report on.
Comments: 29
Kudos: 140





	Interview with a Hitman

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you enormously to every person on the CA discord for help with the ideas for the question and other small details (including pointing out when I mixed up a name)!
> 
> Special thanks to Morfox for the artwork at the end of the story!

“You’re probably wondering why I called you,” Alex began, in the tone of voice that often made Jack suspicious that he was up to no good.

Yassen’s unimpressed stare looked suspiciously like Jack’s own apprehensive squint when she had one hundred percent decided that Alex was definitively up to no good.

“I’m not in danger,” Alex rushed to say. He figured it was important to get that out of the way, as Yassen had just flown halfway around the world to meet him outside of London in a dingy pub that really shouldn’t have let Alex in during the middle of the school day.

“Good,” Yassen said, flatly. Then he stood to leave.

“Wait!” Alex jumped up to block the way. “I just need a bit of time! It’s for a class!”

“The class that you’re currently missing?”

“A different one.” Alex wouldn’t have missed the class he was doing this for. He _liked_ the class he was attempting to study for now.

“What class?” Yassen asked, clearly disinterested. His eyes searched the pub, as if looking to spot any hidden MI6 agents on the prowl.

“Journalism.” Alex frowned. “I need a favor. Please.”

“You used your favor getting me to travel here.”

“You’re already here!” Alex returned. “And it won’t cost you anything. Just an hour of your time. I don’t know who else to ask.”

Yassen, perhaps beginning to believe that this wasn’t an elaborate trap, sighed. He glanced back at Alex. “What?”

“I need an interview with someone.”

“With who?”

“With someone with an unusual job,” Alex said.

From the incredibly pained expression Yassen made, the assassin thought Alex was crazy, it was clear.

“No one else I know will let me interview them,” Alex added. In a hushed whisper, he added, “You know how secret agents are.”

“I know I am also uninterested in this interview.”

“You owe me!” Alex tried. For what, he wasn’t sure - but there had to be something. Yassen had once made Alex fight a bull!

“No, I don’t.”

“I’ll owe you if you help me?” Alex tried, with a sugary coating to his voice.

“I’ll survive without being owed a favor from a teenage delinquent.”

Alex widened his eyes. He wasn’t a teenage delinquent.

Well, he was skipping class right now to be here, in fairness.

_Point, Yassen._

“Well, I can’t ask Ian, can I?” Alex said.

It was a low blow, and Alex regretted it the moment he said it. His uncle’s death wasn’t a tool for blackmailing someone into a school report.

Except apparently it worked.

Yassen sat back down. “You have one hour,” he said. “And you’ll fail the report anyway.”

Alex’s goal wasn’t to fail. His goal might have been to prove a point to MI6 - but that was neither here nor there.

Alex pulled out his notebooks with the interview questions and turned his phone to record.

Yassen shook his head. “No.”

He put the phone away. He hadn’t really expected Yassen to let him record their conversation – as long as he could write the answers down, that was enough. Not that recording the conversation would give anything away. Alex was half certain that the man meant to answer every question in single word responses.

“Alright,” Alex said, glancing at the top of the interview sheet. “Question one: What is your occupation?”

“I’m a private contractor.”

Alex made a face. “No, you’re not.”

“And what would you say I do?”

“Kill people for money?”

“That’s not a job title.”

“And private contractor isn’t your job title!”

“When you pay my fees, you may call me whatever you want. Until then, I will go with ‘private contractor.’”

On his page, Alex wrote _private contractor_ then, in parenthesis, _assassin for hire_.

Next question.

“How did you learn about the job?” Alex asked.

Yassen tilted his head in thought. “I was living a sheltered life, and then a helicopter pilot brought an assassin into the place I lived. He told me about the job.”

Ignoring how utterly insane that sentence was, Alex recorded the answer in his notebook. And then he realized what seemed out of place – well, more out of place – in the response. “Don’t you mean a private contractor?”

“In this case? No.”

“Hmmm,” Alex hummed as he finished writing the answer down. “And the assassin was just like, what? Let me take you back to my evil organization and train you?”

Yassen shrugged.

“Huh,” Alex said. “Interesting. Care to name the evil organization you started with?

“I don’t care to do anything for this interview.” Yassen sighed then – something he did often when Alex was involved, Alex was noticing – and added, “SCORPIA trained me and I stayed with them until recent events made their employment less lucrative.”

“What recent events?”

“Those details are out of the pay range of this interview.” Meaning, Yassen wasn’t answering that one for free. Ah well. Alex would have had to redact that answer anyway if he was mentioned in any way. He was turning in a paper that proved he knew an assassin – not turning in a paper that proved he was a spy.

“Noted. Next question: what does your day to day work involve?”

“Fulfilling contracts.”

Alex would have choked if he’d been drinking something then. As he wasn’t, all he did instead was wonder if Yassen had always been this deadpan and Alex had simply never noticed.

“Could you give more details?”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. “Do you want more details?”

Um. No?

“Yes,” Alex said.

He wouldn’t be able to get Crawley off his case if this interviewed boiled down to a couple of short answers that anyone could have given.

“I solve problems,” Yassen expanded. “Often this involves travel.”

“Could you be less vague?”

“Could you ask more specific questions?” Yassen shot back.

Fine. Alex bit his lip as he thought, and then added his own follow-up: “How do you fulfill contracts?”

This wording must have satisfied Yassen, because his answer finally gave what Alex had been looking for. “Generally, with a gun.”

Alex stopped himself from asking follow-ups to _that_.

“Next question. How large is the field you work in?”

Yassen considered. “A significant part of the global economy is tied up with crime and terrorism.”

“So the field is large?”

“Perhaps in one view. Another view might claim that the field is successfully navigated by only a few, if we’re speaking to my exact job description.” A job description that apparently involved fulfilling contracts and sometimes travel, if Yassen was describing the position.

“Fine.” Alex scribbled down the vague and unhelpful contradictory answer into his notes and moved to the next. “What is the best part of your job?”

“The pay.” Yassen spoke without hesitation, as if he had no doubts whatsoever.

Alex snorted. “You don’t want to even try for something like ‘it fulfills my sense of adventure as I travel to new places regularly?’”

“No.”

Great then. Alex wrote _blood money_ next to question 4, and turned his paper so Yassen could see how Alex had interpreted his answer.

Yassen all but rolled his eyes.

“What’s the worst part of your job?”

“Teenage spies.”

Alex scowled, ready to complain that after people like Cray, Alex had to at least be only the _second_ worst part of Yassen’s job.

“Next question,” Yassen instructed, eyeing his watch none-too-subtly.

“Is your field expanding or decreasing?”

“Increasing.” This too was spoken without hesitation.

Morbid curiosity overcame Alex. “Really?”

“Yes. In particular, the internet has opened possible revenue streams to those looking for less-than-legal work.”

“Illegal work. The word you’re looking for is illegal.”

“I imagine you would think so.”

“International laws also think so,” Alex retorted.

Yassen took a sip from the beer he’d ordered when he’d arrived.

“Fine. Next question,” Alex muttered.

" Do you have any advice for students?" Preemptively, he glared. " Serious answers only."

"Live long enough to retire," Yassen advised.

"Sage wisdom. Anything else?"

"Don't advertise your movements to any governments. Or entrust your phone number with the previously mentioned teenage spies."

Alex couldn’t stop himself from responding to that one. "I have a follow-up. What if the teenage spy is also someone you claim to care about?"

"My other advice is not to care about people."

"Let me guess,” Alex said, exasperation heavy in his tone. “They're weaknesses."

"No. They're annoying. They make you fly several thousand miles to answer questions that could have been answered in a phone call."

"You would have hung up!"

" Yes," Yassen acquiesced. "Because this is a waste of my time."

"It's called journalism. And you may be helping me in my burgeoning career, for all you know!"

"And what are the odds that your employers will allow your teacher to read this report?"

Precisely zero to none. If they expected it. If Alex told them what he was turning in to his teacher.

"I'll worry about that part," Alex said. "Next question. What sorts of wider opportunities does this career field offer?"

"Firsthand experience dealing with governments," Yassen responded dryly.

"Don't forget to mention the bonus of being offered free housing at any point you like! With food provided and everything." Alex smiled helpfully. "I hear they even include healthcare in prisons now too, as of about the last hundred years or so."

They were off the premade questions now, and onto those that Alex had made himself for the second part of his assignment. “What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened on a job?”

Yassen frowned. “I was shot.”

“Which time?” Alex asked. “I kind of assume you get shot a lot, in the contracting business.”

“Not too often.” Yassen looked across the pub a moment. “I thought I was dying and for a few moments I expected you would be next.”

Alex stared at his notebook, quiet. He hadn’t anticipated such a personal response.

“Write it down, if you’re hoping to get a good story out of this.”

He left that question blank in his notes. “Um. Do you ever wish you had a different job?”

“Once,” Yassen admitted. “But I haven’t thought of that in years.”

“What did you want to be?”

“A helicopter pilot.”

Huh. Oddly, Alex could see it.

“Better question,” Alex said, looking at the previous question and crossing out the word ‘worst’. “What’s the best thing that’s ever happened on a job?”

Yassen’s lip twitched. “The target was easily rid of, and I was paid on time. No MI6 agents were involved or hurt.”

“Nice of you,” Alex remarked. “I heard the _or hurt_ line.”

Yassen tapped his watch. “Your time is nearly up. Do you have anything else?”

“Um, yeah. One more,” Alex said. “Do you want to know how this report goes?”

Yassen considered.

“Don’t get me wrong - your answers were mostly terrible,” Alex said. “But I’ll write an introduction to how I know you at the top of my edited interview.”

“And what are you putting in that?”

“The typical stuff. How we met, why I picked you, the role you’ve played in my life...”

“And why did you pick me, Alex?”

“To get MI6 to realize I can be as annoying as you already know I can be, mostly. I’m proving to MI6 that if they won’t leave me alone during school, I’ll be a thorn in their side, like I promised them I would be a couple months ago.”

“Is that the deal you worked out with them, then? You’re a part time spy?”

“Yeah.” It had been the deal, supposedly, before two missions in a row had interfered with schoolwork. Mrs. Jones hadn’t believed Alex when he’d said that he would start pushing boundaries if they didn’t leave him alone during school hours.

Soon, Mrs. Jones might believe him a bit more.

“Thanks for all the help,” Alex said. “I promise next time I call, it will be an actual emergency.”

“Make sure of it.”

Oh! And Alex needed one more thing. He took out his phone. “I need a picture of you. Proof we met.”

Yassen didn’t smile for the photo Alex snapped. He also didn’t take Alex’s phone and delete the photo.

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” Alex promised once they’d walked outside and were about to part ways. “My best guess is my interview will probably be classified, and they’ll be mad at me for inviting you inside the country. My other best guess is if my journalism teacher gets to read any of it, he’ll think I’m crazy.”

“I’m not convinced you aren’t.”

“Jack isn’t either.”

After a brief wave, Alex headed off in the direction of home, ready to write his report. He wondered idly whether it was appropriate to start by saying that Yassen had once almost mass killed London schoolchildren.

\--

Chris Haan stared at the second to last student paper he had left to grade. He had been staring at the paper for the last half hour, wondering what to do about it.

_For my interview, I wanted to talk to a family friend with a particularly unique job. So, I called my dad’s friend Yassen Gregorovich and asked him to meet me nearby._

_That name probably doesn’t mean much to anyone in class, but Interpol and security forces around the world know the name for one reason: Yassen Gregorovich is an assassin for hire. Although, as he stressed to me in the interview, he prefers to be called a ‘private contractor’._

The introduction of Alex Rider’s interview subject continued for almost half a page, and continued to be nearly as strange. The actual interview kept itself tame, with sparse mentions of killing people. A couple of lines - including the answer to the question “What is the worst part of your job” only had the note ‘interviewer retracted answer as part of the Official Secrets Act’.

Chris Haan continued staring. He didn’t know what else to do.

His first instinct had been that this was all a joke - a terrible, twisted joke from a student who otherwise seemed incredibly serious about his schoolwork, despite all the rumors to the contrary.

But the picture - a lithe, unsmiling blonde man with blue eyes glancing at the camera - matched the picture that came up in Interpol’s database.

This wasn’t a joke. It was twisted - incredibly twisted - and the mention of deceased pop star Damien Cray once shooting the man made it clear that the interview had been embellished, but Chris believes that I hadn’t been fully made up.

_Family friend?_

Perhaps his one colleague’s suspicion that Alex was involved in shady business was correct after all.

Although the disclaimer at the end of the interview that Alex wasn’t endorsing the career field and was properly horrified by its results rather indicated Alex didn’t support the actions of his interview subject.

A knock on his office door drew Chris out of his stupor. “Honey?” He called, trying to contain the still shocked waver in his voice. “Come in.”

His husband Brandon opened the door. He wasn’t alone. Chris’s eyebrows drew together - they weren’t expecting guests tonight.

“This man says he’s here to talk to you about a student?” Brandon said, expressing the words as a question.

Something was off.

The guest, a man who Chris could only described as “grey”, cleared his throat. “Hello. I’m John Crawley, and I’m here about a student paper.”

A student paper?

_Oh._

“Is something wrong?” Brandon asked.

“No,” Crawley said, unconvincingly. “We just heard a report that a student submitted a paper that is both an egregious lie and could land that student in a deal of trouble.”

There was no mention of who ‘we’ was.

“So?” Brandon asked. “Students lie in papers all the time.”

“This particular lie would be better taken care of by the group I represent.”

“And what group is that?” Chris asked, exchanging a look with his husband. “Interpol? MI5? The Office of Student Conduct?”

Crawley shrugged. “We’ll say the last one. Now, could I see the paper?”

Chris hesitated.

“I assume you know which one I mean.”

Reluctantly, Chris gathered the pages of the interview and handed them over.

“Thank you,” Crawley said. “I assure you the Office of Student Conduct will take care of the rest. And if you could just sign a piece of paper that assures me you won’t mention this student work to anyone, I will be on my way.”

“Big on keeping student works of fiction secret, is the Office of Student Conduct?” Chris asked wryly, hastily signing the Official Secrets Document he had been handed.

“Yes.”

Brandon cast a look at Chris that indicated that, Official Secrets or not, the two of them would need to talk after Crawley had left.

\--

Class the next day started much the same as usual - students walked in from their previous class, half the students with noses buried in their phones between class periods - despite it being officially against the rules, Mr. Haan didn’t take phones if they were away by the bell - and half the students talking to their friends.

And then there was Alex Rider. He didn’t have many good friends in the class - at least, not that Mr. Haan had observed - although he got along well enough with most students.

But today Alex didn’t walk in chatting, or even quietly heading for his seat as per usual. Instead, he positively slunk in, gaze fixed on the floor.

“Rider,” Mr. Haan called.

Alex’s guilty face turned to him.

“Before I forget, remember to stay after class.”

A couple of other students turned to see Alex, but no one seemed truly surprised. With all the school Alex missed, teachers were always keeping him back for one reason or another.

Alex flushed, but nodded and took his seat.

The bell rang, and class began.

Mr. Haan kept the class focused on their next interview topic, with few remarks about the last interviews students had turned in. He hadn’t finished grading the reports yet, and of course he wasn’t sure he could mention the variety of unusual jobs students had picked to talk about without laughing in shock as he remembered that Alex had chosen to write about a professional hitman.

Alex kept his head down throughout class, mumbling his way through the only question he was called upon to answer. And then the bell rang again, and Mr. Haan dismissed the class.

Alex approached his desk.

Mr. Haan rapped his hand against the desk.

Neither spoke.

Well, somehow this conversation would have to get started. Mr. Haan frowned. “About the interview you submitted,” he began.

“Um, yeah,” Alex said, quietly. “I’m sorry about that.”

Mr. Haan grimaced. An apology was nice, but it didn’t erase the annoyance and headache that last night had been. “Could you explain some of what was going through your head?”

Alex’s face was now beet red. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t trying to drag you into anything.”

“But you did.”

“I know. I needed to prove something to someone,” Alex said.

“To who? To this,” Mr. Haan searched his memory, “Gregorovich? Did you want to prove you knew him?”

“No. People already know that we know each other. And he didn’t even want to let me interview him.” Alex grinned, weakly. “If it makes you feel better, he didn’t like this idea either. And he said I’d fail.”

“Well, about that.”

“I did the interview!” Alex protested.

“And yet, I no longer have a report in my possession. Someone named Crawley from the,” Mr. Haan rolled his eyes, “‘Office of Student Conduct’ took it.”

“Does this mean I fail?” Alex asked. “I can do makeup work! I really can’t fail another assignment. The principal will chain me to a desk!”

Mr. Haan chuckled. The principal would not. “As it so happens, I have just the makeup assignment in mind.”

“Yeah?” Alex said, expectantly.

“I happen to know someone who works for Interpol. Perhaps you could interview them?”

“Sure,” Alex said, looking relieved. “That’s no problem.”

“And Alex? Before the interview, I’m asking my friend to have a talk with you about why corresponding with murderers is wrong.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex responded immediately. “Very wrong. It won’t happen again. I swear my next few interviews will be with people on the other side of the law.”

“The _correct_ side of the law.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Haan sighed. He still had questions, but he imaged they wouldn’t be answered soon. “And one more point.”

“Yes, sir?”

“The next time you talk to your family friend, tell him that he could earn a lot more interviewing with an actual journalist. Speaking of which - give him my email.”

“I’ll try,” Alex promised.

“Alright, Rider. Dismissed.”

\--

Yassen Gregorovich hung up the phone wordlessly after Alex told him that he’d managed to scrape a passing grade on his journalism report after all, despite Crawley confiscating the actual interview. Alex was reasonably certain the assassin hadn’t written down his teacher’s email.

Oh well. All in all, convincing Mrs. Jones that Alex would be best left alone during the school week (or else he’d drag his life as a teenage spy into his schoolwork) hadn’t gone quite as terribly as Alex had feared it might.

And if Mrs. Jones insisted on bothering Alex at Brookland’s again? Well, Alex had the solution. He’d sign Yassen up to give a talk during career day.

Art by [Morfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morfox/pseuds/Morfox)


End file.
